


Idiot

by Senket



Category: Torchwood
Genre: Angst, M/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2010-03-30
Updated: 2010-03-30
Packaged: 2017-11-14 06:52:45
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 7
Words: 8,406
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/512517
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Senket/pseuds/Senket
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Jack won't tell Ianto anything about himself, and Ianto suffers. And breaks down. And when alien tech gets involved, as usual, the effects are not pretty.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Prologue: Dread

It was getting tiring. Whenever they were brought up. 'Just because you're his part-time shag.' 'It's not like that, between me and Jack.' 'Eyecandy.'

It was tiring because he didn't know. He never knew. Jack hit on everything that moved, he joked about everything, and he hid everything with so much possessive obsession that it was hard not to feel like just that. Was he right, when he said it wasn't just sex? It got harder to fight, whenever the man turned away when he asked, whenever Jack shut down every attempt to find out anything about him with cold efficiency.

And he felt just stupid. Stupid for sinking when they'd been so deathly close catching the pterodactyl, shaking when, amidst the battle with Lisa, he'd been woken by the man's unyielding lips against his own, breaking at the hard look he'd gotten when he'd lied about Lisa being his last kiss. For yielding so thoroughly after Suzie's last death.

Stupid for thinking he was special when Jack vanished for months without telling them anything, for waiting, for going to pieces in his hands when he came back, for that leap of hope when Jack had said 'I came back for you,' before he'd crushed it with his reiteration. For that second leap when he'd been asked to dinner, for the pain in every touch that screamed 'I love you' in his head, for realizing that he was lost without the man.

For the thousands of times he sank under the weight of Jack's hidden life, and wondered if he would even register in a hundred years- or in fifty, or twenty.

Stupid for have only worn suits even before Lisa's death just for a stupid compliment that had been thrown back at him carelessly.

Stupid for hoping that, even if he somehow knew even less than Gwen Cooper about his lover, that it meant something. That he was seeing something the others weren't. That Jack was seeing something only a precious few seemed to have. That he wasn't alone in this.

That even if he was going to die alone, Jack was going to cry for him.

Stupid for giving and giving and giving and never asking, never taking.

Stupid.

And, worse, stupid for never telling Jack any of this, and letting him walk away- again and again and again- always left with the same question.

"Do you even care, Jack Harkness?"


	2. Viral

Jack was irritable. Gwen was still on her honeymoon, and the rift had been acting minimally. He was bored and tense and waiting for the other shoe to drop. They were just coming back from a minimal rift break, he and Ianto, and he just wanted to get back, send everyone else home, and unwind. So to speak. Only to say that it involved some interesting psychic cuffs he'd been hiding in his desk.

Sinking into his seat, he rolled the object they'd retrieved in his hand. It was smooth and flat, gray, cold, like a river stone, fitting just so in his palm. He turned it in his hand, and his fingers sank into the four indentation at its center just so. It swirled to white, a yellow-green light gleaming in its depths.

A sharp breath emitted from beside him, and Jack glanced away from flashing lights and to the driver. Ianto's eyes seemed to lose focus, fingers tightening on the wheel. "It feels a bit ridiculous," he said, quiet and steady, but distant, and Jack shifted to face him. "Gwen, I mean. You and Gwen. You love her. No one can miss it, I certainly can't miss it."

"Ianto," he tried to start, but the man didn't seem to have heard him, his eyes still wide, blank.

"It feels ridiculous having to cut in on a wedding dance because I'm afraid I'll lose you in front of my eyes. Stupid. It's Gwen, it's always Gwen. You think I didn't see. When you came back. I don't think you understand, Jack. After Lisa, you saved me. You. You- I was alone, without you. Cracking, breaking; I was going through the motions, but I wasn't even sure how long I could do that. I was falling apart and no one noticed. Toshiko even heard it, but no. Nothing." His hands were trembling, now, foot lead on the gas. He didn't seem to notice as the speedometer ran past 60- past 80, they were going faster and faster and he wasn't even following the turns. Jack was frozen, wide eyed, staring at the other man. He came to himself all at once, but he didn't have time to listen. Dropping the gadget, he reached across to the wheel, trying to pry Ianto's hands away, but they were locked in place. Tugging on his knee, pushing, pulling, grabbing the lever to shove the seat back. He yanked on the wheel and the car swerved off into the opposing lane, and then onto grass. He pulled on the emergency break, forcing the car out of gear, turning it off. Ianto went on, eyes wide and empty. The stone flashed under Jack's seat.

"When you died. Oh, God, when you died. Gwen asked to be alone with you, they left and. What was I supposed to do? Refuse? Nobody cared. I never left Torchwood in those days you were gone. I'd hide in your bed at night, wrapped in your coat. I thought I was dying all over again, and I just wanted her to leave so I could see you, so I could curl up against you until I wasted away. I had nothing else, but she had you instead. They worried, they fretted, they tried to convince her to let you go. I stopped eating, I slept twelve hours a day. They asked me for coffee."

He reached for the man beside him, flinched when, at the barest touch, Ianto broke into tremors, muscles in his back tense and twitching.

"You came back and I didn't know what to do, but you held me and you kissed me and I thought maybe everything would be better now. But then you were gone again, and they suffered and they raged and I didn't even have your coat anymore. I was drowning, and these people who were supposed to be my friends let me sink down and down and never looked, never cared. Never noticed."

He tried again, wrapping his arms around Ianto's shoulders and pulling the Welshman against his chest, tightening his hold when the body convulsed. "Ianto, oh Ianto. Ianto. Stop. Please. Please, Ianto. Please."

He didn't seem to notice that anyone was even there, straining, throat working. "Three months, Jack. For three months my suits stopped fitting. I had to buy a punch for my belts, I had to buy new belts. And then you came back again. 'For you,' you said, and I hoped I'd been right. 'For all of you,' you said, and you looked at her. It hurt, but I didn't care because you were back. I thought I was hallucinating, I thought I was going mad. I thought I was too desperate, too lonely, I had to be dreaming you up. So I watched you on the CCTV, I listened, I needed to make sure. So I saw."

"I saw you and Gwen, in the cell room. I- I am so sick of being the only one who is taking this seriously, Jack. A replacement. You joke about your boyfriends all the time, but all your serious relationships are with women. You must've noticed how nervous I was, how awkwardly I reacted, when you asked me out. I just. I didn't know. I couldn't tell if I was just going to be another 'I once had a boyfriend that made fantastic coffee' story. If I was even that. If you were asking because it was what you wanted or because Gwen was engaged now. I hoped for the former, of course, but it was so hard. And Captain John Hart, good God, said it was all a great cosmic joke. 'It's just sex,' he said, but it never had been, not for me. Never. But I wonder if you ever would've stayed with me if she'd left Rhys. If I'd ever had you. If you would've stayed out of guilt. I feel so stupid, all the time. All the-" he choked, jerking forward suddenly, hands banging against the dashboard, fingers white as the twitched and squirmed against plastic and glass, a strained, tense whimper sliding out of his throat. He gagged on nothing, arching, before collapsing back in his seat, staring up at the roof. Jack moved closer, feeling for pulse, frantic and wild-eyed. Ianto started again, his voice lower, scratchier.

"After we started sleeping together, you and Tosh were lost in the fourties. I wanted to see you, I wanted you to come back, but I knew what you thought about the rift, I tried to stop Owen anyway. He mocked me for trying. 'Just because you're Jack's part-time shag,' he said, 'you think you have any power over me?' Meanwhile, or as I hear from Tosh- she told Gwen, of course, not me, I happened to have overheard, meanwhile you were falling hard and fast for the real Jack Harkness. You told him there was no one. I'm glad to know that's how you felt, Jack, because I spent the moment I met you on feeling guilty- guilty because I loved Lisa to the depth of my heart but- the sight of your coat, your smell, your smile, the way you thank me when I hand you coffee, the way you watch us from your office. When I finally got Lisa away from that bed and she ran rampant, and I woke up to you kissing me like world was ending, and I felt it crashing around me. You made me choose. You forced me to choose you. You made me choose you, but I was never your first choice! I just wanted to save her, Jack, save her or die trying, but you always made everything so complicated." He arched again, a low shriek of pain, thrashing, banging his hands against the steering wheel. The horn blazed, and a light turned on across the street. A strange sort of twisted smile scratched across his face when he settled down again, shivers running up and down his spine at an even rate now. The light inside the alien tech had turned a dark blue, tendrils of deep indigo curling through it. It emitted a low whine, flashing subtly. Ianto recoiled at the sound Jack barely made out (and not at all consciously), clamping his hands over his ears.

"Lisa. God, Lisa was beautiful. Wrapped in metal and plastic, crying oil, and I still loved her. No one ever saw her smile the way I did, saw her face in the morning, saw her stretching her legs out of the bubbles brimming from her bath and ordering me to rub her feet. She was my whole world, Jack. I had to work for Torchwood to keep her alive, Jack, it was the only way. I felt like an idiot, chasing you down. Desperate, worthless. I needed you to keep her alive. I was a joke to you, but I had to deal with it, because I needed her. But you landed on me, and we rolled, and we laughed, and we choked and you were so close. I wanted, and it hurt, because I had to save her, and it was supposed to be a trick- but still I wore suits, every damn day, and wanted you, and needed her, and guilt ate me up without mercy." The purple ate up the blue, darker and darker until it turned black, and Ianto sucked in a great shudder, heartbeat straining, and Jack shook around him, tucking the man's head under his chin, trying to protect him, trying to protect himself, trying not to listen, burning.

"Oh God, Lisa. Lisa? Lisa! Where- why am I in Cardiff? I have to get back to London!" Ianto' fingers shook as he searched for the keys in the ignition, but Jack pulled them away, eyes green from unshed tears as he pulled them out of reach, pressing his free palm against the man's cheek. Ianto jerked away, confusion ranging with desperation as he stretched, reaching for the keys. "I need them. I have to get back to London. Something bad's going to happen. To Lisa. To everyone. Please. I need them. I need them. I need her. I need you. I need- I need. Oh God." He heaved and fell sideways, against the door. Fingers clenched, twitched, moved, clawing at the door, at the handle. The stone flashed again, white, one last time, and shut off, the high-pitched whine cutting off suddenly. The door swung open and Ianto fell to the pavement, a shaking mess, eyes wide, unseeing, pulse racing, convulsing. His nails dug furrows in the earth, in the skin of his wrists. Jack was out the car and around to the other man in a second, pulling him into his arms, back into the SUV, clipping him into place in the backseat. He sped all the way back to Torchwood, wiping his eyes.


	3. Downgrade

Jack leaned against the glass of his office, staring down into the main room. Ianto was stretched out on the couch, deathly still but for his shallow breaths, ashen apart from the angry red lines across his lower arms where his fingernails had dug in. Owen was checking his stats, glancing between his instruments and clipboard and the lax body. Tosh was behind Jack, in his chair, twisting the seat back and forth slowly. "UNIT's found one before," she told him in professional tones. If he'd turned around to look, he might have caught her expression of worry and terpidation, fingers flexing nervously against her laptop. He didn't.

"At best they can guess, it seems like it was originally designed for covert interrogation. You put somebody in a room with someone controlling this machine, and they just- start talking. After they talk about something it gets removed from their memory banks temporarily, layer by layer, so there's nothing blocking the details that are still stored subconsciously in the older memories. It's good for hiding their tracks, too, because the temporary amnesia makes it less suspicious when a soldier shows up a day later. Only it's not intended for our physiology. UNIT tried, I'm sure you could guess that, but we couldn't figure out how to direct the chatter. Best anyone can tell, people just talk about whatever happens to be on their mind, and then they just extrapolate forever, until all their memories of the subject are gone."

"You've just got to hope they're not thinking about their parents or something, then they'll just go on for days," she joked uneasily, finger swirling listlessly over her touchpad as she stared at the screen.

"The thing with humans, though, is that we're stubborn. We try to fight back, hold onto our memories, or stop talking, but the technology is not only forceful but intended for a completely different cranial map. It's... neurologically damaging, if not psychologically. At best, Ianto already went through the worst of it and he'll recover slowly, get his memory back bit by bit, return to normal. At worst, his motor cortex will suffer permanent damage. There's been no precedent for permanent damage to the hippocampus, so he should be able to create new memories without trouble, but as for the ones he lost..." She sighed, removing her glasses, watching as her Captain tensed, pressing his palm and forehead against the glass, heaving a heavy breath.

She slid out of the chair, standing beside him, pressing a hand to his arm even as she fixed her eyes on Ianto. "What did he forget?"

"Me."

She sucked in a trilled breath, tightening her hold. Tosh tugged on the man's shoulder. He turned suddenly, wrapping his arms around the woman, trembling ever so slightly as he hid his face against her hair. "He has to remember, Tosh. He has to."

"I know, Jack," she answered softly, pressing her cheek against his chest, rubbing his back. "I know."

Ianto didn't. Not upon waking, at least, but he didn't seem to remember much of anything. It could've been disorientation just as well as amnesia, blue eyes darting about the room. It was obvious by the way he shrunk into himself, jerking away when Owen laid a steadying hand on his shoulder.

He sat still for all of the time it took everyone to gather around him, blinking furiously, before jumping to his feet and crashing past them. He made it to the kitchenette, and was promptly sick in the sink, half-sobbing from pain as he wretched until there was nothing but a film of saliva and a headache that made everything go white.

Jack was the first one by his side, steady hands holding his forearms firmly, keeping him upright. The shorter man collapsed backwards against him, wheezing. They were so close, Ianto's ribcage expanding against his stomach, Jack's nose in dark hair, slick palms closing around his wrists. They stood there, together, holding on, in the kitchen, snatched breaths and tumbling heartbeats- until Ianto regained himself. He unwound his fingers, eyes still hazy with pain as he stepped away from the immortal man. Ianto withdrew a mug from the cabinet, turning the sink on. He drank water greedily, speedily, almost choking on it. Jack watched, pulling his hands against his chest.

Tosh took his hand as Owen breezed past with some painkillers. "Tell me if I'm hurting you," he told her softly, and she nodded, squeezing his fingers.

Ianto slid to the floor, curling his legs up against his chest, his back against the cabinets, looking between the three of them- or, at their feet, rather, uncomfortable being the center of attention like this. Everyone aware of his illness. "Where..."

"You're in Torchwood, Cardiff," Jack answered without waiting. Tosh might have fallen for the strength in his voice if he hadn't been squeezing her hand so tightly.

"No. Where did you bury her? Where did you bury Lisa?"

"Ianto-"

"We burned her, remember?" Owen snapped, hating any mention of the cyberman incident. "Dismantled and destroyed her and gave the delivery-girl's body back to her parents with the wrong brain."

Ianto whimpered and pressed his forehead against his knees. "I want to go home."

"I'll take-"

"No. I want to go alone."

"You can't go alone," Owen interjected roughly. "You're in no condition to take care of yourself. You need to stay with someone."

"Not with you, then," Ianto growled, eyes narrowing at the doctor.

"I'll take you home," Jack told him with a thin smile, holding out his hand. "Come on."

Ianto looked between the two men, at the wide-eyed woman behind him, edging away from the doctor. He took the offered hand after a long moment. One was better than three.

Jack pulled a bit more strongly than he needed and, his balance still wrecked with vertigo, Ianto fell against him again. Jack wrapped one arm around him, holding on as long as he could before the Welshman regained himself, pulling away and straightening his suit, walking for the cog door. Jack moved after him, watching the pair of hands that should have helped him into his coat.


	4. Vitriol

Jack sighed, brushing his fingers over the other man's forehead, his thumb stroking the curve of his temple. Ianto had gone to sleep eventually- nervous, restless sleep, until Jack sat beside him and draped his coat over the pillows. Ianto had his fingers curled in it now, hands half in pockets, nose pressed into the thick woolen fabric. He'd inhaled once, nudged into it, and fallen into a deep, silent sleep; that gave Jack an amount of relief he could barely believe.

Ianto had always been hard to read- even for Jack, which was usually one of the things he enjoyed about Ianto. (Along with his brilliance, his wit, his sense of humor, his precision, his smile, his love for the strangest little things like the past and cinema and the little things of life, his cheekiness, his willingness to try anything, his anything-but-blind devotion, his ability to ask just the right questions, his inane skill at understanding people- he could go on, but it was starting to compress in his chest, so he left for a cup of coffee instead. Magnificent coffee, that was another one.)

But there wasn't any instant coffee, not at Ianto's flat, and he refused to leave and find an open cafe. At this time of night, he'd have to wander for a long time before he could chance on anything open. He honestly never had the chance to get to know Cardiff that well, somehow. He usually got his midnight coffee right here, anyway, and there was no way he would risk being gone when the other man woke. Jack sat on the counter, engaging in a staring contest with the red and chrome espresso machine. Ianto would kill him if he touched it. He needed coffee.

It wasn't long before he heard shuffling, turning to look. Ianto came in, white tee and flannel pants, squinting at the light, running his fingers through messy hair vigorously. Jack slid off, looking vague ashamed, brushing his hands against his legs. He'd been given quite enough sharp looks to know he wasn't supposed to be up there, even if usually he just returned said looks with a cheeky smile and a deliberate settling back, easing his legs apart just far enough for a warm and sleepy man to settle between them and lean against him while they waited for the coffee to brew. "It's three in the morning. You should be resting."

He rose a deliberate eyebrow, moving past him and to that very machine, sliding his hand along it as he walked to the cupboards. "You can stare at it all you like, it won't do anything until I get my hands on it." He pulled out a grinder and whole beans. Home-brewed was even better, and they rarely had time for it, since Jack had the tendency to make a game of keeping the other in bed as long as possible on the days they even made it to Ianto's. It felt strange not to feel any anticipation at the thought of what was practically a delicacy.

"You don't like it when I touch it," he oversimplified, smile too broad.

"You mean I threatened to cut off your hands, among things."

"You remember?" he asked, a dash of hope curled warm in his throat.

"No," he answered with a sigh, cocking his head. "I just know myself." There was a long pause while Ianto worked, his movements remarkably efficient despite being half-asleep. Jack buried his hands in his pockets, aching to touch, wrap his arms around him, kiss his neck, breathe him in. He watched until there was a mug being held out to him.

"Do you know who I am?"

"Jack Harkness, Torchwood Cardiff."

His fingers twitched against the ceramic, Jack staring down into his coffee. "Right. And you know that because-"

"You're my boss. As well I figure. Well." The man got a strange, considering look about him, leaning back against the island, sipping the steaming drink slowly. "It's weird. I know I work for Cardiff. I have over a year's worth of memories wandering, working the archives, cleaning up, Tosh, Owen. Suzie, bringing a dead Suzie coffee. I know you hired someone else when Suzie died, but. It's just a big, gaping hole. And, you-" he looked up, squinting, inspecting. Jack was barely breathing, eyes fixed on him, knuckles white, waiting and waiting.

"The last I remember is sitting by Lisa, fixing my tie, her smile soft and her voice softer, encouraging me, talking about the pterodactyl. How she heard you couldn't resist a man in a suit. Thinking about how this was my last chance. Thinking that I can't fail her."

"I suppose it worked. The con. I'm- I'm sorry about that. I didn't want to. I didn't have a choice. ...It must've failed anyway," Ianto said, rubbing his temples. "She's dead, isn't she?"

"Yeah," Jack answered hollowly, heart hammering against his ribs. "Yeah, she's dead. I- I shot her. She wasn't herself anymore, Ianto. She was- it. It was faking. Acting, to trick you. If she still had feelings she never would've stopped screaming."

Ianto put his mug down sharply, marching back out of the room and pulling a jacket on. Jack waited, breath baited, for the door to slam, knowing he'd have to run after him. It didn't, though, and he stepped into the living room. Ianto was standing on the balcony, leaning over the railing, holding a frame. His thumb stroked over the image of a dark woman, her smile brighter than the twinkle of London lights behind her.

Jack stepped towards him slowly, carefully. "Ianto?"

The man looked over his shoulder, regarding him coolly. After a moment of consideration, he reached over and slid the glass door shut before turning away.


	5. Declivity

Jack tried to wait Ianto out, but for important things the rift was never willing. He had a long and complicated day and returned to Torchwood dirty and tired. He spent an evening scrubbing the muck away before heading back to the other man's flat; he'd never been one for leaving well enough alone, and his relationship with Ianto was not something he was willing to wait and see on.

He knocked- courtesy only, really- and, upon receiving no answer, helped himself in. He was quite surprised to realize that it was already unlocked when he tried the door, prowling through the small flat. He found Ianto in the bedroom, in the end. Jeans and a tee, leaning against the headboard, legs stretched out in front of him, a box of diaries beside him, leafing through a thin volume of red leather, chewing his way through a tin of honey biscuits.

"Ianto..?"

"I'm reading about Martha Jones," he answered without feeling. "Always knew these would come in handy, even though they would've been stolen from me if I'd left Torchwood. Some of it was already familiar. I'm starting to remember Gwen. Her face, her movements. Nice enough girl." He shut the book finally, looking up at Jack. He was still lingering in the doorway, swallowing thickly. "You've caused me a lot of grief, apparently. But I seem to think it's worth it." He tossed the journal up and down, spinning it between catches, without breaking eye contact.

Jack wavered, looking away and back, hands pushed into his pockets.

Ianto slid off the bed in a single move, walking up to the man- only a hair's breadth away, his breath warm against Jack's shoulder as he looked up, considering, calculating. A lift of a smile, teasing, his voice low. "Is it worth it, Jack?"

He stared, sucked in a deep breath, shivered. So close and so far. He wanted to press himself up against him, kiss him, sink his fingers through his hair, push him back against the bed and show him just how worth it it could be. "I hope so," he answered quietly, a soft breath and a dark look, fingers fluttering against the other man's arms.

It seemed to be answer enough for Ianto, because he found himself with an armful of warm flesh, the Welshman molded against him, teeth and tongue searching for spots he'd read about but didn't remember the location of.

"Ianto?" he called, barely more than a whisper, hope and confusion and a deep, needy desire caught around the edges of the man's name.

"Prove it," he teased, fingers under his coat, dancing up his spine. "Thirty seconds to convince me I didn't make a mistake." Ianto leaned his weight against him, whispering into his ear, low and hot, the brush of dry lips against the shell of Jack's ear. "Lots of thing you can do with a stopwatch."

That memory, those words, sparked in Jack. Before he knew what he was doing the box of books had been scattered across the floor, the other man pinned mercilessly against the mattress, their mouths crushed together.

He fast found himself lacking his coat, over-shirt open, one brace caught around his elbow and the other hanging by his hip, friendly fingers tracing along his ribs, friendlier tongue reacquainting itself with the ridges of his hard palate.

But this was a clumsy, second-hand attempt at seduction. Jack knew what it felt like when Ianto was helping him forget, the man wrapping around him, step by step, heat and passion, knowing fingers and teasing tongues, long sweeps of breath against his skin. He knew what it was like when Ianto saw that he was feeling too much, when he helped reduce the world to just the two of them, and there was nothing else he could remember but a name and a face and a smell and fire in his veins. That had always been one of Ianto's greater gifts, but this- this was not his angel's mercy, the man's hands looking for things he'd read about but didn't remember. This was not seduction, it was secrecy. Ianto wasn't trying to help heal Jack, he was trying to distract him, detract him. He was trying to simultaneously avoid him and convince him that everything was slotting into place. But it wasn't, obviously it wasn't. Ianto, messily digging out his weaknesses- this was a con, badly planned and badly executed, and it made him angry, and it made him worry.

He pulled away- Ianto tried to pull him back with legs and sharp nails and a blistering kiss, but it only made him more resolute. "Stop it. We've got to talk."

The man made a face that expressed boredom, and maybe that Jack was kind of a idiot, and whined softly and rolled his hips. The captain left to make coffee, if only because he knew Ianto would have to stop him before he could screw anything up.

It led to here, the two men staring at each other in the dining room, Jack thoughtful and Ianto surly over two mugs of black coffee- untouched. This was starting to ruin one of his favorite pastimes.

"What do you want?" Ianto asked eventually, all the image of the annoyed, cynical teenager his files had hinted at before Torchwood had found him- before Lisa, really. He never thought he'd see the reserved, secretly-sweet gentleman like this.

"I just want you to talk to me," he answered quietly. "What's wrong?"

"What's wrong!" he laughed, bitter and cutting. "What's wrong? Ever lose your memory, Captain Jack Harkness?"

His eyes bore into Ianto's, sharp and unyielding. "Yes." His voice was tight, restrained. "In fact, I have. Two years- missing."

"Yeah?" He replied almost instantly, barely batting a lash at the new information. Jack wondered if it was supposed to ache this much, that Ianto was so callous about knowledge Jack kept so close to his heart. "Did you ever get any of it back?"

"...No. No I didn't."

"Well it hurts," he growled, low and rough, slamming his hand down on the table, concentric rings in their coffee. "It's like reaching into the dark, blindly plucking out shards, each memory a little piece of jagged glass, slicing up everything, sharp pain- trying to put them all together, trying to figure out where each tiny, messy, broken sliver goes- a bloodstained puzzle stretching miles around me, a shattered castle."

"You once said coming back from the dead is like being dragged over broken glass- it's like that, Jack, only it's my mind that's broken, brittle little pieces that used to make me who I am."

"And then," his voice had an edge of darkness, brutality and pain, "the memories of that night. Even with everything I don't remember, I've read enough to know how I feel, what I never wanted to tell you. But you dragged it all out of me, piece by goddamn broken piece. I keep wondering what I told you, but the memory of that night- it's crushed beyond repair, grains of sharp, gleaming sand shredding my feet, and I'll never know."

"You can keep everything you want from me, but me- no, no, not me. Everything that has ever had my name on it, you know about. But my own thoughts, Jack, the one thing that would always be mine. No, you took that from me, too. You take everything, leave me standing in the dark with everything stripped from me, lost and bleeding in the cracked glitter of my own mind."

"What could possibly be wrong?"

Ianto had spoken sharp and unyielding, beginning to end with barely a rest, drawn and just daring Jack to interrupt. Now that he was done he seemed to sag, scrubbing his fingers against heavy denim. His palms were clammy with sweat, heart heavy and low. Where he had been staring back defiantly he was now avoiding Jack's eyes, his head buried in his hands, fingers digging through his hair.

Jack rushed to his side, pulling him to his feet, wrapping his arms around the smaller man. He tucked Ianto's head against his chest, pressing his cheek against dark hair, shaking while he held him close, thumb rubbing up and down his shoulder. He swallowed when Ianto didn't respond, a soft, careless ragdoll. "I'm sorry, Ianto, I'm so sorry. I'm so sorry. I didn't mean to. I'm so sorry."


	6. Virulent

He woke up several hours later, groggy, to his phone's insistent ring. He was at Ianto's, stretched on the ground, but he couldn't remember anything past taking a long, burning shower in the hub, scrubbing dirt away. He dragged himself up high enough to grasp the cell out of the coat pocket slung on the couch's arm. "'Lo?"

"Jack. It's Owen. Where are you?"

"Owen, what's wrong?"

"Retcon. Since Suzie, I've been watching the supply. Some of it's gone missing."

"What are you doing at the hub?" He could hear the sound of shifting papers- the man was hiding something, but that didn't matter right now. "Never mind, we'll talk about it later. I think I know what happened to the Retcon." He massaged his temples, running his tongue along his teeth. Did it always give everyone such a headache? Maybe mixing it with caffeine had been a bad idea. How much had he thought about this, really? "Find Ianto."

"Jack?"

"Just trace him!"

There was silence, but for typing, and then a heavy pause. "Jack? Tracer says he's in his flat, so if he's not there, then. Can't."

"Use the damn CCTV. Follow every bloody camera from his flat out. Watch him walk. Just. find. him."

Not long later, he found Ianto in an alley, inhaling deeply from a rolled cigarette- at least he had assumed it was a cigarette, until he saw the plume of dense, green-gray smoke exhaled through chapped lips. He moved with long, purposeful strides, righteous ire in the square set of his shoulders and the heavy sound of footfall.

The young man didn't even look up at him, one hand pushed into the pocket of his tan jacket, eyes fixed on the line of red drifting behind the ember as he drew shapes in the air. "Captain Jack Harkness," he called out with a rueful little laugh, speaking to an absent audience. "The Hero of this story, ladies and gentlemen, here to save everyone." His eyes fixed on the man as the immortal snatched the smoking paper and green away, dropping it to the ground and crushing it underfoot without breaking eye contact. Jack's eyes were dark with anger, Ianto's were dark with haze. He'd never smiled in the face of death before, he thought to himself, crushing an absurd little laugh, but here he was, grinning while Jack looked at him with murder and pain and almost-agony. "Everyone except the ones he loves, as it were. If he does, at that."

Jack chose not to respond, that muscle in his jaw bulging. He spoke slowly, carefully, searching. "Since when do you smoke?"

Ianto really did laugh, this time, flicking his lighter open and closed down by his hip. It was a shiny silver thing, a Celtic knot etched on the side, the kind teenagers got for each other when they smoked together in secret, trying to be clever and cool. It looked like it had been freshly refused and refueled, reflinted even. It probably hadn't been in use for years. "When did I stop, you mean?" Ianto didn't like talking about his past, any more than Jack did, but he'd never tried to hide it. No one ever asked, so why should he tell? Why give when they didn't want to take, tearing out little pieces of himself so they could collect dust under someone's shoes. "You're not a child, Jack. You saw my files. You know where I'm from. There's nothing there, nothing but a lot of destitute houses all in a row, nothing to do but hide behind convenience stores and dream of a bigger life. Did you really think my father was a tailor?"

Jack's hand was on him then, on his arm, squeezing, trying to get him to turn and face him. He looked away on purpose, fixing his eyes on the brick, lit by a dull orange light. It was buzzing loudly, flickering, and it was like a sharp whisper in his head. No doubt Tosh was watching through the CCTV at this moment. Maybe Jack had asked her not to. Maybe she hadn't listened. Maybe she never did. "Don't try to wax ethics at me, Jack, whatever your name is. I'm sure you've done far worse."

"Never as an escape," he answered, voice thick with emotion- betrayal and anger, at himself and at Ianto; maybe fear, maybe anguish, maybe desire, maybe not.

"Liar!" he choked a laugh, tugging away but turning to face him still. "You dirty liar!"

Jack flinched and Ianto didn't care, pushing him back to retrieve the blunt on the floor, tucking it in his back pocket. He walked past the man, heading for the door that led back into the bar, heavy bass making the doorknob rattle. He'd jammed a rock between door and frame to keep it open before, and a stretch of indigo marked a line down his body as he turned to look at the frozen Captain. "Gwen's coming back from her honeymoon tomorrow. Now how does that make you feel?" He flashed a twisted, toothy smirk and vanished into light and sound.

It took him only a moment to get over the sudden blow, but the door had already locked behind Ianto. Taking the long way around, he was surprised (and irritated) to discover that he was off-balance enough to affect his flirting. It had taken him three tries before he could convince the bouncer to let him pass; it seemed to be long enough for Ianto to reintegrate himself. He found the man at the bar, a young pretty thing pressing against him. His fingers were curled in her long, red hair, a wicked smirk twisting his lips while he spoke in his ear.

Jack edged around a throng of people, slowed down only marginally by the unavoidable invitations and flirtations. He stood over the man sitting on Ianto's other side, close and intimidating, until he scurried away. Jacked seemed to take up twice more room than usual, which was odd considering how he stood out typically.

Ianto was well practiced at ignoring him, though, subconscious as it was. Of course, he was starting to remember, but stolen moments- not the ones that had caused him distress in the first place. No, he thought, shoulders tightening, Gwen would no doubt trigger those memories. Gwen and Jack. He was the joke, in this. He kept his eyes on the girl beside him. "Found one for that threesome you always wanted, Jack. Pretty enough for you?"

"Ianto, this isn't the time." His voice was low, tone clipped, fingers gripping Ianto's forearm painfully.

"I thought it was always the time," he answered easily, glancing at him over his shoulder.

"This isn't funny." Ianto had turned away again, but he'd never been one to give up so easily. "You Retconed me."

"Yep." His hand curled into a fist on the counter- the bartender carefully avoided asking if he needed a drink, swiftly moving to the bar's other end.

"Why?" The question stuck in his throat, thick and painful. Molasses.

Ianto turned to him again with a sigh, a faint and meaningless smile playing at the corner of his mouth. "That's a glass castle I'm going to keep to myself. I think it's my turn, wouldn't you agree?"

"I don't agree," he hissed, pushing closer. "I'm going to figure out how to trigger that memory if I have to use the bloody mind probe."

"You are a right bastard," Ianto told him with a sardonic smile, leaning close, sliding against him, breath hot and relentless against his cheek, fingers traveling unheeded against the woman's thigh. She certainly didn't mind the lovers' spat, eyes glowing with curiosity as she pulled herself closer, responding greedily to Ianto's every touch even as she kept her eyes fixed on the movie-star gorgeous man that had just appeared.

"I've half a mind to let you erase Torchwood after all. I'd lose everything, Lisa, go back to this useless boy stealing fags from the corner store, but who would miss me? You? What a joke. Miss someone who could understand when you hated the world, maybe. Me? Yeah, right. If I were Gwen, maybe. You could just as easily pick me up at a bar and feed me Retcon nightly. what would be the difference?"

"That's not it."

"Really? So it's not about the handcuffs, or the games, or the uniforms, or the faint psychic link you never seem to notice. It's actually about me, a boring, lying, weaselly little man following you with a trash bag and a memory thick with pain."

"Ianto-"

"And you could do whatever you want, feeling and using and letting me think it was just a good night in a hidden bar somewhere. I wouldn't even be surprised not to remember anything the next morning."

"I would never-"

"I wouldn't know any different," he quoted Gwen, guessing that Jack wouldn't remember. According to that entry, the Captain had been quite emotional, so he probably didn't remember exactly what had been said, even though Ianto had written it word for word.

"I would," he hissed, dark and intense, and Ianto almost choked on the loud and unforgiving laughter that spilled from him. Word for bloody word.

"You've used that line before," he grinned like a shark, leaning forward to plan a messy and cruel kiss on Jack's lips before he pulled away and turned back to the pretty, nameless woman beside him. "But not on me. Good night, Jack."

"Ianto!"

"I said," he hissed, and his expression was closed and angry- sudden but immovable, "good night."

Jack stared back unwaveringly but the young man's expression did not change. After a long stalemate he swallowed and stood, burying his (twitching, clenching) hands into his pockets. "I'll see you tomorrow." He left dragging his feet, and Ianto ignored him.


	7. Depth

Ianto went home alone. He'd never intended to do anything with the redhead at the bar. At no point in his life had he ever considered shagging somebody he didn't fancy, even though he hadn't been absolutely certain his feelings were reciprocated entirely by the captain, at least not at the beginning.

It didn't mean he went home right away, though. He'd gotten enough beers in him that he'd needed the bartender to call him a cab to get home. He'd barely made it through his door, crashing on the couch. It had amused him horribly at the time that at least one of his beers had been bought for him by a fairly attractive grey-eyed man in the corner who had obviously seen him kiss Jack. Too bad he was at the other end of the spectrum for 'interested'.

Jack, the one and only man he'd ever looked at twice. That one was worth a bitter laugh, if anything. That man existed to make a fool of him, it seemed.

Ianto pulled his jacket over his eyes and fell in a deep, dreamless sleep.

Come morning, Ianto forcibly dragged himself up, shuffling into the bedroom to turn his alarm off. Two cups of coffee, three doses of aspirin and a scalding shower later, he at least looked presentable, even though he felt quite ready to bury himself in the archives for the day, occupying his time in complete menial, mindless tasks (alone) until he could recover properly. But Gwen was coming back today, as he'd been so gleeful to tell his superior.

So he came to work early, even by his own clock, and shuffled to the kitchen to make her a welcome-back drink, as he had when she'd returned from Paris. Chocolate cappuccino, faintly lightened by a drop of cream, chocolate and nutmeg shavings curled on its surface. For Jack he made it the same as always, because he could never sacrifice the quality of his coffee for any reason. He added a shortbread biscuit out of not-quite-misplaced guilt, but made sure the office was empty before depositing it on Jack's desk.

The man was probably out picking the new bride up or something. He pushed away the feeling curling in his stomach swiftly, setting on making Tosh and Owen's drinks instead. He kept his back turned when he heard Jack come in, followed by Gwen as expected. It seemed Jack had told her about his 'issues', because she sounded uncertain approaching him- shuffling feet, short stuttered steps, surprisingly audible breaths. He turned to hand her the striped mug, and it struck him all at once. That expression, trepidation eclipsed by genuine, caring worry. A thousand conversations he hadn't written down.

_The Himilayas. They were all four in their tiny tent, in two sleeping bags they had zipped together, wearing everything but their thermal coats as they clustered together for warmth, limbs twisted together. Tosh and Owen were already asleep, the Asian woman burying her face against the man's hot neck, Owen's breath a white plume. Gwen was pressing her back flat against Tosh's, chest to chest with Ianto, shivering mutely. He hadn't written in his diary since they'd started scaling the mountains, his hands in thick gloves and shaking too hard to leave anything legible on the page._

_Freezing in the dead of night, almost crying in frustration and a loss that seemed so keen out here in the middle of nowhere, just the cold and the dark for company, and a suggestion that they keep their minds off it somehow, but the only thing he could think about out here was Jack. He would've known what to do, he would've stopped them going. Gwen was trying so hard, but she was the newest of them, and. God, he didn't know, and he missed coffee, real coffee, not this instant drivel he'd been forced to settle for when they could barely get water boiling._

_"He'll be back, Ianto. I don't care what Owen says, he'll come back."_

_He'd stared at her like she was an alien- well. Something strange and unusual. Anyway. Silly of him, he'd thought with a slight smile. If he knew anything about Gwen, it was that her lack of psychic power (he'd checked. Torchwood One wasn't totally useless) was more than made up for with her empathic skills._

_He'd tucked his head against her shoulder, a deep and affected sigh. "You love him," he'd told her, as though it was an excuse for her optimism._

_"As do you," she'd answered easily, smiling that 'everything will be all right' smile. He'd seen it too. Not as often as Andy, but he knew what it meant._

_"You've got Rhys," he continued softly, and he didn't miss the way she rolled her engagement ring. You couldn't, not the way they were jammed all together._

_"You've got me," she reminded him, stroking his back._

_"He loves you."_

_"I never made the mistake of thinking Jack couldn't love the whole world at once, if he wanted to," she'd laughed, so quietly but so honestly, and he'd almost cried at the release of weight he hadn't realized was crushing him. Almost had, but he was exhausted and dehydrated and they'd probably freeze against his lashes anyway._

_"How did Torchwood deserve someone as fantastic as you, Gwen Cooper?"_

_"I could ask you the same, Ianto. I could ask you the same."_

He smiled at her, then, bright and real, and gave her the hot, sweet coffee. She took it from him, only wavering for a second before beaming. He wrapped one arm around her and pressed a kiss to her temple. "Hello again, Mrs. Williams. And how was your honeymoon?"

It was a quiet day, so she spent the morning hiding with him in the archives, playing with the harmless artifacts that were stored down there, talking, gossiping, helping him out with the little things he was struggling to solidify in his mind. She never brought up Jack once, and never refused to talk about him when Ianto did instead.

She came with him when he went out to buy everyone lunch, and he felt so much like himself again coming back that he even cracked a probably-tasteless joke about Jack's love of UNIT uniforms when he went up to bring the sulking man his soup, and didn't particularly resist when the Captain pulled him back to kiss him hard and desperate.

"I need more time," he responded, soft, rubbing his fingers against the short hairs at the nape of Jack's neck. "Just a few more days. I'll find you." And he smiled and pressed a light kiss at the edge of the man's mouth, and slid away to get back to work.

Tosh beamed at him and he patted her shoulder as he passed, sliding her a peppermint because he had one in his pocket.

Things were looking up.


End file.
